I am sitting here waiting for that little animal I often hear helps with stories. I think I heard it calling out to me earlier…
I am afraid that to sleep, without first letting out the story currently nagging at me, would be the biggest loss of the day. I am scared that should I doze off, it would sneak out and leave me here, sleeping. But then, if it so wants to come out, why play hard to come? Wasting my emotions and increasing my anxieties. Why does it want me to beg it to show up? I had not enticed it, you know. It voluntarily impressed on me its intentions to come out and even asked that I wait to tell it. But I have been sitting here, for hours, and have even written one and a half stories. No, one story and what looks like a poem; both of which feel forced and unauthentic. They do not possess the character of stories ready to be born.
I will let them be.
They ran away from my feelings while I was in their middle and decided to get emotionally detached, dumping me like you would an unwanted co-traveler. They behaved like they were forced to wake up from a beautiful sleep in the wee hours of a winter day. These two stories grumbled just when I thought we were warming up to each other.
They rubbed it on me that ours, was a forced partnership, but I walked on, silently, slowing down every so often to allow them to catch up. I had hoped we would reach the destination together or that may be their mood would lighten up along the way, but no, it was a tiring drag. I had to quit and run on alone. Leaving them in the middle of that lonely country road.
I hope the little animal comes along…i am sleepy.